Getting the Wrong Stuff Done Since 1965

Since Cincinnati,
like an old-school promise
to love me forever,
packing up our new
old typewriters and
looking for a straighter
answer to the perplexities
of evolution.

Friendly dinosaurs and
dragon myths;
Adam, the first love,
and the advent of
burdensome toil;
the bloody clods of
sibling rivalry and keeping
brothers; the measurement of
salvation gauged in gopher wood cubits,
molded with animatronics,
desperate belief and, of course,
that passionate intensity.

Breaking for cigarettes
on a clotted highway,
and gaining on Nashville
by moon.